Читать книгу Robbery Without Violence - John Russell Fearn - Страница 6

CHAPTER THREE

At three o’clock that same afternoon Henry Ander­son, the night watchman at Mackinley’s Bank, found himself closeted with Chief Inspector Hargraves and the inevitable Sergeant Brice.

Anderson was not looking immensely co-operative, either. He had been awakened from sleep in order to keep the appointment.

“This won’t keep you long, Mr. Anderson,” Hargraves apologized, smiling. “It has to be done, though. I presume the sergeant has told you what has happened at the bank?”

“Yes, I know.” Anderson moistened his lips and peered from his myopic gray eyes. “But you’re wasting your time picking on me. I did no thievin’. I’m an honest man.”

“Nobody doubts that for a moment, Mr. Ander­son—but you fill a rather significant role in that you were the only person on hand at the approxi­mate time the gold was stolen.”

“You know the time, then?”

“I’m afraid not, but we know it happened dur­ing the night when you were on duty.”

“How can you be sure of that?” The old man’s jaw began to project argumentatively.

“Because it’s obvious,” Hargraves replied, quite controlled.

“I say it isn’t. That gold, so I’m told, was put in the strongroom toward four in the afternoon. It was found to have gone when Mr. Burton opened up this morning. I don’t come on duty till seven. There’s three hours when something could have happened—three hours in which I was not there. Why pick on me?”

Hargraves cleared his throat. “I agree that there were three hours in which something could have occurred, but I am quite satisfied that nothing did. The time when that gold was stolen was obviously when vigilance was at its slackest—during the night, when the normal bank staff were absent. Didn’t you, Mr. Anderson, hear anything during that time?”

“Not a thing.”

“How far were you from the strongroom?”

“Quite a little distance. The strongroom is in the basement, as you know, and my small office where I have my chow and a sit-down is on the ground floor. Naturally, I always keep my office door open when I’m in there, and from it I have a clear view of the basement steps.”

“And nobody went down them?”

“No—or came up, either. I can swear to that. As I keep on telling you: there wasn’t a sound all night.”

“What,” Hargraves asked, “is your office like?”

“Ain’t much. There’s a chair and a table, on which are a telephone and a set of alarm buttons in case anything happens—which last night it didn’t. Oh, and a small radio. I spend a lot of time listening to it—turned down low, of course. I asked Mr. Mackinley if I could,” he added, as Hargraves raised an eyebrow in mild reproof.

“Would it be loud enough to drown any slight sounds somewhere in the building?”

Anderson thought for a moment, then he sighed. “Come to that, I suppose it would. But I’d hear anything loud,” he went on earnestly. “And I main­tain that nobody could’ve removed that much gold without making a sound of some kind.”

“Quite true, but the fact that your attention was distracted by the radio is interesting because—”

“Wait a minute!” Anderson exclaimed suddenly, a faraway look in his eyes. “I’ve just thought of something. I didn’t have the radio on last night after ten o’clock because of interference. It was so bad it drowned the program.”

Hargraves frowned slightly. “Drowned the pro­gram? Around ten o’clock? What program was it?”

“Singing festival from the Albert Hall. National program on the BBC.”

“Hmmm. I listened to that for a time as well, but I didn’t notice any interference. Could have been a local trouble, of course.”

“Whatever it was it finished things for me. I had to switch the radio off.”

Hargraves nodded rather tiredly. “All right, Mr. Anderson. Thanks for coming along. Just routine, you understand.”

Anderson grunted something, picked up his battered hat, and then departed.

Hargraves sat in silence, lost in moody speculations.

“Not much gravy in that, sir,” Brice remarked, glancing up from the typewritten notes he had made of the brief interview.

“No. That’s the trouble.” Hargraves tapped the desk indecisively, his lips compressed. Then he went on:

“It’s the absolute lack of anything to go on that has me stopped. PC Harkins has double-checked the bank’s closed-circuit TV camera recordings, and agrees with what Burton told us earlier: nobody entered the bank during the night! And there’s just nothing in Anderson’s statement to give us a lead either.”

“Do you suspect him, sir?”

Hargraves waved a hand impatiently.

“As for suspecting Anderson— I’d as soon suspect my own grandfather! He’s neither the wit, nor the strength, to contrive a major theft like this.”

Brice nodded and stood reflecting. Hargraves glanced at him.

“What about the alibis of Burton and Mac­kinley? Did you have them checked?”

“I did. Watertight in both cases. So now we’re reduced to suspecting somebody in the general bank staff.”

Hargraves shook his head. “I think they’re clean enough. Let’s look at the thing logically. That gold couldn’t be removed without somebody opening the strongroom door. Right?”

“Right!”

“Only two men knew the combination of the time lock—Mackinley himself, and Burton. The rest of the staff didn’t even know the combination.”

“Which indicates an outsider,” Brice said de­cisively.

“So I begin to think. There’s no mystery as to how an outsider knew about the gold since the papers have been splashing the business for some time. An outsider, given the information as to when the gold would be put in the vault, only needed to work out how to get the gold out of the vault. That bit stumps us, but if we can get a lead on who attempted the feat we can at least start.”

“Anybody particular in mind?”

“No. It’s difficult to pin down since gold would attract almost anybody. Might have a check-up made on all the big crooks we know and see what their movements were last night. Also have all people within range of the bank questioned. To get the gold out, there must have been activity of some kind, and it’s possible that somebody saw something. A belated homecomer, an uneasy sleeper looking through the window, even a drunk maybe. Anyway, get all the information you can root out.”

“Right, sir. I’ll do that. And you? Taking any special line?”

“I might have another word or two with Mac­kinley. A new angle occurs to me— This might conceivably be a crime with a double purpose. Revenge, as well as the material gain.”

“I’m not with you, sir,” Brice confessed.

“Mackinley may have a bitter and ingenious enemy somewhere. It wouldn’t be surprising for a man in his position. I might do worse than find out if there is such a person. If that person has the qualifications for pulling a trick like this I’ll go further. Anyhow, it’s worth a try. You follow your line and I’ll follow mine. We’ll check here later. Right?”

“Right!”

* * * *

Joseph Mackinley was looking not at all happy when Hargraves was shown into his luxurious pri­vate office toward the close of the afternoon.

“Hello, Chief Inspector.” He rose from his desk and crossed over to shake hands, “Any good news to bring me?”

“Afraid not, sir. I just came along to ask one or two further questions. Purely routine.”

“Questions?” Mackinley motioned to an armchair and then pushed over the cigar box as Hargraves seated himself.

Hargraves shook his head. “Thanks, but no. Now, I have to ask you if—”

“Don’t you fellows at the Yard do anything else beside ask questions?” Mackinley growled. “This vanishing gold business is urgent—desperately so.”

“Quite so,” Hargraves said quietly. “I assure you I am doing my best endeavors, but I can also understand your anxiety. The fact remains you’ll have to trust the police because you can’t do anything without them.... Now, to a few questions. Have you any particular enemies?”

“I have a few—naturally.” Mackinley paced around the office with hands in trousers pockets.

“I’d like their names and addresses,” Hargraves said. “Have no fear but that everything will be treated confi­dentially.”

Mackinley went to the desk, scribbled on a memo pad, and then handed it over.

“There they are, and not the least bit of use to you, I’m afraid?”

Hargraves glanced down the list. Quite a few of the names were those of men famous in Throg­morton Street and on the stock exchange. He smiled to himself and then asked another question:

“Anybody else, privately, who thoroughly dis­likes you?”

“Privately?”

“As apart from your business life. I mean. This is not an attempt to pry into your domestic affairs, but it’s possible there is something—or somebody.”

Mackinley shrugged. “Nothing specific, I’m afraid. I’ve a wife who doesn’t think I pay enough attention to her; a daughter who makes full use of the fact that I’m her wealthy father—and finally there’s young Jeff Cole.”

“Cole?”

“Judy’s so-called fiancé. Come to think of it, he doesn’t like me a bit, but that’s only because I strongly dis­approve of his association with Judith.”

“Could I ask you to be more explicit,” Hargraves urged, making shorthand notes on the list of addresses Mackinley had given him.

“Explicit? In what way?”

“Your daughter and this Mr. Cole. Why do you disapprove of him?”

The Mackinley jaw set doggedly. “He isn’t high enough in the world for her. Not enough influence or background. Think of it! The daugh­ter of Joseph Mackinley married to a garage proprietor. It isn’t to be thought of.”

“I’d rather like to see this Jeff Cole,” Hargraves said thoughtfully. “What’s his address?”

“He runs the Apex Garage on Morton Street—not far from here. He’s there pretty well all day so you’ll find him easily enough. But remember—this bank robbery is a secret! Nobody must know.”

“Sooner or later somebody’s got to,” Hargraves answered bluntly. “I’ll be as discreet as possible. But first I’d like a few words with your daughter. When’s a good time to catch her?”

“She ought to be at home now— And don’t go telling her more than you have to. I’ll do that myself.”

Hargraves rose to his feet. “Your family is bound to know in the end, Mr. Mackinley, but I’ll be as careful as I can. I’ll have a chat with her and let you know when anything develops.”

Mackinley hesitated over adding something, but he did not say it.

Hargraves left the office and went on his way, making his first call the Mackinley mansion.

A maidservant answered the door to him, and showed some astonishment as Hargraves showed his warrant card.

“I’m Chief Inspector Hargraves. Is Miss Judith Mackinley at home? I need to speak to her—urgently.”

The maid confirmed that Judith was at home, just as Mackinley had intimated she would be. She invited him into the house and ushered him into an enormous lounge.

He was asked to wait whilst the maid informed Mackinley’s daughter of his visit.

Moments later, with an air of considerable surprise, Judith herself came sweeping prettily into the enormous lounge.

“You—you want me, Chief Inspector?” She seemed quite unable to credit the fact, even when Har­graves again displayed his warrant card.

“I think perhaps you can help me, Miss Mac­kinley.”

Hargraves motioned her to a chair.

“Help you?” Judith sat down slowly. “But—but what have I done? Is it some parking offence that you’ve come about? Something I have done with the car, and shouldn’t have?”

“Nothing like that,” Hargraves smiled. He sat down himself and then looked at the girl steadily. He decided he liked what he saw.

“This concerns a matter connected with your father’s bank, Miss Mackinley. You don’t know about it yet, but it is inevitable that you must.”

The brown eyes opened wide. “The bank? But I don’t know anything about the bank, except that father owns it.”

“Quite so. To cut the preamble, Miss Mackinley, fifty million in gold has been stolen from the bank and it’s my job to find out who stole it and how it was done.”

“Oh!”

“I must ask you to treat the information in confidence, though I have no doubt your father will tell you the full facts later on.” He looked at the girl steadily.

“Your father wanted to tell you himself later on, but in my position I can’t make a move without revealing why I want infor­mation. That being clear, might I ask if you know anybody who has an intense dislike of your father?”

“Well—er—quite a few people, really. In his business he is bound to have some enemies.”

“Just so. He has supplied me with the names of certain business people who might wish him ill. I am concerned with—shall I say, private enemies. Those disliking him for purely domestic and social reasons.”

Judith relapsed into thought. “Only one per­son I can think of, but the dislike is all on daddy’s side, not Jeff’s.... I’m talking about Jefferson Cole, my fiancé.”

“Yes?” Hargraves said encouragingly.

“It’s nothing much, really, but daddy doesn’t like Jeff—so, of course, it’s mutual.”

“I see. Might I inquire the reason for this dislike?”

“Jeff isn’t supposed to be good enough for me. I don’t agree with that at all. If I love him—and I do—I can’t see that anything else matters. After all, I want to marry him, not father.”

Hargraves rose to his feet. “Thanks for answer­ing my routine questions, Miss Mackinley. I’m sorry I troubled you.”

The girl hesitated over something. Hargraves waited a second or two, then seeing she did not intend to say anything further he excused himself and left the house.